Noble House

And all loathed their dependence on banks—but they had to put their cash somewhere safe, life being what it was and robbers as plentiful as fleas. Dew neh loh moh on all banks, most were thinking, they're inventions of the devil—of the foreign devils! Yes. Before foreign devils came to the Middle Kingdom there was no paper money, just real money, silver or gold or copper—mostly silver and copper—that they could feel and hide, that would never evaporate. Not like filthy paper. Rats can eat paper, and men. Paper money's another invention of the foreign devil. Before they came to the Middle Kingdom life was good. Now? Dew neh loh moh on all foreign devils!
At eight o'clock this morning, the anxious bank manager had called Richard Kwang. "But Honored Lord, there must be five hundred people already and the queue goes from here all along the waterfront."
"Never mind, Honorable Sung! Pay those who want their cash. Don't worry! Just talk to them, they're mostly just superstitious fisherfolk. Talk them out of withdrawing. But those who insist— pay! The Ho-Pak's as strong as Blacs or the Victoria! It's a malicious lie that we're overstretched! Pay! Check their savings books carefully and don't hurry with each client. Be methodical."
So the bank manager and the tellers had tried to persuade their clients that there was really no need for any anxiety, that false rumors were being spread by malicious people.
"Of course you can have your money, but don't you think . . ."
"Ayeeyah, give her the money," the next in line said irritably, "she wants her money, I want mine, and there's my wife's brother behind me who wants his and my auntie's somewhere outside. Ayeeyah, I haven't got all day! I've got to put to sea. With this wind there'll be a storm in a few days and I have to make a catch. . . ."
And the bank had begun to pay out. In full.
Like all banks, the Ho-Pak used its deposits to service loans to others—all sorts of loans. In Hong Kong there were few regulations and few laws. Some banks lent as much as 80 percent of their cash assets because they were sure their clients would never require back all their money at the same time.
Except today at Aberdeen. But, fortunately, this was only one of eighteen branches throughout the Colony. The Ho-Pak was not yet threatened.
Three times during the day the manager had had to call for extra cash from Head Office in Central. And twice for advice.
At one minute past ten this morning Four Finger Wu was grimly sitting beside the manager's desk with Paul Choy, and Two Hatchet Tok standing behind him.
"You want to close all your Ho-Pak accounts?" Mr. Sung gasped shakily.
"Yes. Now," Wu said and Paul Choy nodded.
The manager said weakly, "But we haven't en—"
Wu hissed, "I want all my money now. Cash or bullion. Now! Don't you understand?"
Mr. Sung winced. He dialed Richard Kwang and explained quickly. "Yes, yes, Lord." He offered the phone. "Honorable Kwang wants to speak to you, Honorable Wu."
But no amount of persuasion would sway the old seaman. "No. Now. My money, and the money of my people now. And also from those other accounts, the, er, those special ones wherever they are."
"But there isn't that amount of cash in that branch, Honored Uncle," Richard Kwang said soothingly. "I'd be glad to give you a cashier's check."
Wu exploded. "I don't want checks I want money! Don't you understand? Money!" He did not understand what a cashier's check was so the frightened Mr. Sung began to explain. Paul Choy brightened. "That'll be all right, Honored Uncle," he said. "A cashier's check's . . ."
The old man roared, "How can a piece of paper be like cash money? I want money, my money now!"
"Please let me talk to the Honorable Kwang, Great Uncle," Paul Choy said placatingly, understanding the dilemma. "Perhaps I can help."
Wu nodded sourly. "All right, talk, but get my cash money."
Paul Choy introduced himself on the telephone and said, "Perhaps it'd be easier in English, sir." He talked a few moments then nodded, satisfied. "Just a moment, sir." Then in Haklo, "Great Uncle," he said, explaining, "the Honorable Kwang will give you payment in full in government securities, gold or silver at his Head Office, and a piece of paper which you can take to Blacs, or the Victoria for the remainder. But, if I may suggest, because you've no safe to put all that bullion in, perhaps you'll accept Honorable Kwang's cashier's check—with which I can open accounts at either bank for you. Immediately."
"Banks! Banks are foreign devil lobster-pot traps for civilized lobsters!"
It had taken Paul Choy half an hour to convince him. Then they had gone to the Ho-Pak's Head Office but Wu had left Two Hatchet
Tok with the quaking Mr. Sung. "You stay here, Tok. If I don't get my money you will take it out of this branch!"
"Yes, Lord."
So they had gone to Central and by noon Four Finger Wu had new accounts, half at Blacs, half at the Victoria. Paul Choy had been staggered by the number of separate accounts that had had to be closed and opened afresh. And the amount of cash.
Twenty-odd million HK.
In spite of all his pleading and explaining the old seaman had refused to invest some of his money in selling Ho-Pak short, saying that that was a game for quai loh thieves. So Paul had slipped away and gone to every stockbroker he could find, trying to sell short on his own account. "But, my dear fellow, you've no credit. Of course, if you'll give me your uncle's chop, or assurance in writing, of course. . . ."
He discovered that stockbrokering firms were European, almost exclusively, the vast majority British. Not one was Chinese. All the seats on the stock exchange were European held, again the vast majority British. "That just doesn't seem right, Mr. Smith," Paul Choy said.
"Oh, I'm afraid our locals, Mr., Mr. … Mr. Chee was it?"
"Choy, Paul Choy."
"Ah yes. I'm afraid all our locals aren't really interested in complicated, modern practices like broking and stock markets—of course you know our locals are all immigrants? When we came here Hong Kong was just a barren rock."
"Yes. But I'm interested, Mr. Smith. In the States a stockbr—"
"Ah yes, America! I'm sure they do things differently in America, Mr. Chee. Now if you'll excuse me … good afternoon."
Seething, Paul Choy had gone from broker to broker but it was always the same. No one would back him without his father's chop.
Now he sat on a bench in Memorial Square near the Law Courts and the Struan's highrise and Rothwell-Gornt's, and looked out at the harbor, and thought. Then he went to the Law Court library and talked his way past the pedantic librarian. "I'm from Sims, Dawson and Dick," he said airily. "I'm their new attorney from the States. They want some quick information on stock markets and stock-broking."
"Government regulations, sir?" the elderly Eurasian asked helpfully.
"Yes."
"There aren't any, sir."
"Eh?"
"Well, practically none." The librarian went to the shelves. The requisite section was just a few paragraphs in a giant tome.
Paul Choy gaped at him. "This's all of it?"
"Yes sir."
Paul Choy's head reeled. "But then it's wide open, the market's wide open!"
The librarian was gently amused. "Yes, compared to London, or New York, As to stockbroking, well, anyone can set up as a broker, sir, providing someone wants them to sell shares and there's someone who wants them to buy and both are prepared to pay commission. The problem is that the, er, the existing firms control the market completely."